


15x07 CODA

by Taybay14



Series: Season 15 CODAs [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x07, Aftercare, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Angst, BDSM, Bondage, Castiel's Tie (Supernatural), Coda, Cuddles, Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, I fixed it, Last Call, M/M, Makeup Sex, Rough Sex, Self-Loathing, Smut, Spanking, Team Dean Winchester's Red Ass, You're Welcome, sam & eileen teasing, season 15 coda, spanking with a belt, we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21724501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taybay14/pseuds/Taybay14
Summary: Unspoken words vibrate in the air between them.They’re lethal.They’re curative.They scare the hell out of both of them.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Season 15 CODAs [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1514210
Comments: 27
Kudos: 210





	15x07 CODA

**Author's Note:**

> This is smuttier/more intense than I meant it to be, but oh well. Enjoy <3

Castiel rests his shoulder against the doorframe, leaning his weight on it as he crosses his arms over his chest. The bedroom is a mess. Dirty clothes discarded all over the place. Empty beer and liquor bottles scattered on the ledge above the bed. A walkman and headphones placed on the bedside table. 

And there, on the edge of the mattress, feet planted on the ground, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands, is the love of Castiel’s life. The man that pisses him off so badly that it sometimes gets difficult to breathe. The man who can make him so happy he feels like he’s floating. 

Unspoken words vibrate in the air between them. 

They’re lethal. 

They’re curative. 

They scare the hell out of both of them. 

Castiel steps forward, releasing a deep breath. He doesn’t have the energy to navigate the words right now. Silence is safer. 

Dean shifts his weight, aware of Castiel’s proximity, but he doesn’t look up. That’s just fine. Castiel doesn’t need him to. 

Getting down on one knee, Castiel lifts his hand to Dean’s left temple. Dean startles for half a second before melting into the touch. A low exhale escapes his lips and Castiel can’t help but think it sounds relieved. Maybe he’s just projecting his own relief. 

Closing his eyes, Castiel concentrates on the fading grace inside him. 

“Cas,” Dean whispers, taking Castiel’s hand in both of his and pulling it away from his skin. When Castiel snaps his eyes open, he sees that Dean is looking right at him. Their noses are pressed together. Their lips hover less than an inch away from each other. 

A breath away. 

A kiss away. 

“Don’t waste your grace. It’s just a cut.”

“Healing you is never a waste, Dean.” Castiel brings his fingertips back to Dean’s temple and stares straight into green as he once again tugs at his grace. Dean doesn’t let go of his hand. Just holds it there as Castiel does his thing. His pupils dilate and his breath catches as the radiating blue begins to seal his cells back together. 

Once Dean is healed, Castiel pulls his hand from Dean’s grip and stands up. Dean looks at him like a lost puppy, eyebrows lowered in confusion. Castiel steps back once. Then again. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Wait - what?” Dean nearly launches off the bed before changing his mind, sitting back and deflating. “That’s it?”

“Yup.” Castiel crosses his arms against his chest again, his eyes growing cold, his jaw locking, his heart steadying. “There’s nothing left to say to you, Dean.” 

“Well, what if I have something to say to you?” Dean asks, anger sparking in his voice. 

Castiel just takes another step back and shakes his head. “I don’t want to hear it.”

The way Dean’s face drops nearly makes Castiel smile in amusement. If he wasn’t so pissed, maybe he would. Castiel isn’t in the mood to smile right now, though. He hasn’t been in days. Weeks. 

Dean’s eyes dart around him for a few seconds before the man’s face crumples. His voice is watery when he says, “You’ve changed.”

“Yes.”

“You’re - it’s -” Dean flinches as if whatever thought just crossed his mind caused him pain. “You’re like you were  _ before _ .” 

They don’t have to discuss what Dean means.  _ Before  _ Castiel fell in love with him.  _ Before  _ Castiel rebelled for him.  _ Before  _ Dean fell in love back.  _ Before  _ the two of them finally -  _ finally  _ \- got together. 

“No, Dean. This is me after.”

They don’t have to discuss that word either.  _ After  _ they lost their son.  _ After  _ Dean declared Castiel was dead to him.  _ After  _ they broke up.  _ After  _ Castiel decided it was time to move on. 

“I don’t like it.”

Castiel scoffs. “There’s a lot I don’t like, Dean. Suck it up.”

“Cas-”

“Don’t.”

“Cas-”

“ _ Don’t _ ,” Castiel growls, clenching his fists. 

Dean’s eyes flash. He gulps. Shivers. Licks his lips. 

“Don’t,” Castiel whispers, this time begging. Pleading with Dean not to do what he’s about to do. Because Castiel isn’t as strong as he’s pretending to be. Because Castiel hasn’t moved on like he claims. Because Castiel thinks the moment they touch, he will break apart. 

When Dean pushes to his feet, Castiel is helpless. He can’t move. Can’t think. Can’t argue. He just stands, frozen, until Dean reaches him. Then hands are in his hair and lips are against his own and he’s seeing stars. 

_ You’re dead to me.  _

_ We were a family and I didn’t want to lose that.  _

_ I failed you. And I failed Jack. And I failed- _

_ No, don’t. Don’t even say it. Don’t even say her name. _

_ You okay? _

_ Yes, but- _

_ Good. _

_ God’s been lying to you Cas - forever. You bought into the biggest scam in history. _

_ You asked what about all of this is real?  _ We are. __

_ Why does that something always seem to be you? _

Castiel shoves Dean away, fingers gripping his flannel at the last possible second so the momentum is interrupted and he doesn’t fall to the ground. Dean opens his mouth, but Castiel puts an end to whatever he was about to say. He grabs Dean’s face and turns him, pressing him into the wall. One hand tangles in Dean’s hair, yanking so his face is angled how Castiel wants it. The other gathers the man’s two wrists and pins them above his head. 

Dean tries to talk into the kiss but Castiel bites down harshly on his bottom lip as a warning. Whatever he planned on saying dissolves into a choked whimper. Castiel tastes blood on his tongue. 

_ More _ . 

Castiel needs  _ more _ . 

He needs everything Dean has to offer. 

He needs to  _ take _ and  _ take _ and  _ take _ until Dean is as empty as he is. Then, maybe, they can start anew. 

Whirling them around, Castiel pushes toward Dean’s bed, the two of them stumbling. He stops them before they reach the place and shakes his head, his eyes catching the state of the bedroom. Not here. Not in this place. Not surrounded by evidence of their broken hearts. 

Castiel lifts Dean up, the man wrapping his legs around Castiel’s waist without being prompted. They kiss again as Castiel blindly exits the bedroom. Even as they stagger down the hallway, repeatedly running into the wall, their lips never part. It’s as if they both fear if the kiss stops, it’ll never start again. 

With their history, it’s a possibility. 

In the distance, Castiel hears a giggle and some whispers. He ignores them. He’s pretty sure Dean doesn’t even notice them. The man is too busy panting and clawing and trembling. 

Castiel’s bedroom door is cracked open, and in the back of his mind he realizes it shouldn’t be, distinctly remembering closing it behind himself before leaving, but he ignores the thought and pushes the door the rest of the way open with the toe of his shoe. He uses Dean’s body to shut it again by turning them around and slamming Dean into the wood. Dean grunts, nails digging so hard into Castiel’s back he’s sure the fabric of his coat must be ripping. 

Impatient now, Castiel goes to his bed and tosses Dean onto it. The man bounces once before settling in the center of the mattress. He blinks up at Castiel, cheeks rosy, lips spit slick, breaths rapid and frantic. “Cas-”

“Who has been in here?” Castiel asks, clearly catching Dean by surprise when the man looks around in confusion. “My door was open. My bed is mussed. That flannel there isn’t mine.” 

It’s Dean’s. 

Dean stares at the flannel like it’s his enemy. “I came in once or twice, okay asshole? I missed you.”

Castiel murmurs, “you have no idea,” under his breath before descending onto Dean. He sheds his coat by the time he’s laying his body over him. He kicks his shoes off as he settles between Dean’s parted legs. Tugs at his tie as he lowers his lips to the corner of Dean’s jaw and nips at his skin. Leans back and pulls the tie over his head as he grinds their crotches together. 

With firm, attentive hands Castiel gathers Dean’s own hands, crossing one wrist over the other on the mattress a foot or so above Dean’s head. Castiel makes quick work of wrapping his blue tie around the pale, freckled skin, yanking the fabric tight enough to make Dean hiss before double knotting it. His eyes dart up to Dean’s, his lips parting. 

Dean nods once and whispers, “Green.” 

And something settles inside of Castiel. Something monumental. Because having sex - even rough sex - was one thing, but if they’re going to slip into a scene like this, that’s a whole other beast. That involves communication. That involves Dean lowering his defenses. 

That involves trust. 

So. Much. Trust. 

And Dean just handed it over without hesitating. 

Castiel strips Dean quickly and methodically. Boots taken off one at a time. Socks next. Belt removed. Jeans tugged down pretty bow legs. Flannel and undershirt bunched up around his bound wrists.

Boxers down to his ankles. 

Eyes locked onto Dean’s, Castiel stands up and slowly slides his belt out of the loops of his dress pants. He doubles the leather over and tightens his fist around the two ends. Castiel smirks. Dean gulps. 

“Turn over.”

Dean shakes his head slightly, eyes wide. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

After a sharp swat of the looped belt to Dean’s inner thigh, Castiel growls, “You ruined us.” 

“I-” Dean sniffles, one tear slipping down his cheek. There’s a pull in Castiel’s chest but he ignores it. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Show me. Show me you’re sorry.”

“Okay,” Dean says in a tiny whisper, turning onto his stomach and exposing his ass to Castiel. He shivers when Castiel lowers the belt and gently drags the leather across the expanse of skin. 

Castiel steps closer and lowers his voice. “Color.”

“Green,” Dean says again, no hesitation in his voice. 

“We’ll fix this, Dean,” Castiel assures. When Dean snaps his head around to look Castiel in the eyes, Castiel gives him a warm smile. “This is going to fix this. Then it’s all over, okay?”

“We-” Dean’s voice breaks, making him pause. He wipes his cheek against his shoulder to try and get some of the tears away. It doesn’t do much. “We’ll be better? We won’t be ruined anymore?”

“We won’t be ruined anymore. You’re fixing it, baby. Right now. Right here. You’re fixing it.” 

Clearly speechless, Dean turns back around and buries his face in the mattress. He arches his back ever so slightly, lifting his ass in the air an inch or two, and waits. The tension makes his muscles jerk and his body tremble. Castiel chuckles darkly. The sound alone sends goosebumps along Dean’s skin. 

Castiel wants to see the goosebumps red. 

He lifts his arm and swings it down, bringing the belt against Dean’s right ass cheek in a hard swat. The man below him cries out into the mattress but does nothing else. 

Castiel's strong boy. Always so strong. Always so defensive. Always pushing people away. 

No more. 

Castiel gives the left side a matching swat, then shifts his weight so the angle changes and brings the belt down four times in a row, nice and hard across both cheeks. Dean’s teeth are clenched, his hands gripping the bedding like his life depends on it, his green eyes screwed shut, his face almost as red as his ass. 

“I am not dead to you,” Castiel growls, bringing the belt down so hard this time it whistles in the air.

Head thrown back, Dean shouts into the open air. Usually Castiel would gag him or tell him to be quiet unless he wants even more pain. Right now, though, Castiel doesn’t care. In fact, let everyone in the bunker hear this. Let everyone know that Dean is his again. Let everyone know they’re fixing this. 

“We were family,” he pauses, hits the back of Dean’s thighs with burning hot leather. “I didn’t want to lose that.”

“I failed you.”

_ Smack _ .

“I failed Jack.”

_ Smack _ . 

“I failed - her.” 

_ Smack _ . 

“No,” Dean sobs, shaking his head back and forth. “You didn’t, Cas! You didn’t fail us!” 

Castiel closes his eyes, a tear slipping down his cheek. When he opens them again, he hits Dean’s left ass cheek. Then his right. Then both. 

“We’re real, Dean,” he growls, bringing down the belt again and again and again. 

“We.”  _ Smack _ . “Are.”  _ Smack _ . “Real.”  _ Smack.  _

The belt drops to the floor and Castiel stands there panting, his cock dangerously hard in his pants. His hands are trembling, his eyes watering. He can hear above his heavy  breathing that Dean’s now sobbing words. Messy, barely coherent words. 

“We are - are - we are - we are - sir, we are - real- so real, sir - we are real, Cas - Cas - God, Cas - sir - Cas - I love - we are - I love you - we’re real - we’re real - we are - I love you - I love you - I love you - I love you - I love you - I-”

“Shhhh.” Castiel leans down, running a hand through Dean’s soft hair. He cups the side of his face, heart melting when Dean nuzzles the palm of his hand. “We’re real, yes.”

“We are,” Dean confirms, nodding as he looks into Castiel’s eyes. 

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Dean whispers, his body sagging in relief. “God, I love you, Cas.”

Castiel reaches up with his free hand and easily frees Dean from his tie. He slips it, along with Dean’s shirt and flannel, off of Dean’s hands and pushes them all to the floor. He starts to help Dean lie down, planning to cuddle him, when Dean’s hands dart to his pants. Castiel watches, holding his breath, as Dean snaps open his button and lowers the zipper. His pants are shoved down to his ankles, Dean’s fingers dragging up the back of his calves and thighs and ass. He dips the tips of them into the waistband of Castiel's boxers and pushes them until they join Castiel’s pants. Castiel steps out of them both and climbs onto the bed, draping himself over Dean as Dean turns onto his back and pushes up until his head is on the pillows.

Dean hisses, no doubt his ass killing him, but his hands are in Castiel’s hair and he’s pulling him down into a heated kiss. He parts his legs and slots his hard cock against Castiel’s. The two of them shudder when their erections come in contact, Castiel’s arms nearly giving out from where they hold him up above Dean. 

“Fuck me,” Dean whispers against his lips. “Please. Sir. Cas. Please.”

When Castiel reaches over to his bedside table where he keeps lube, Dean stops him. “Want it to hurt.”

“No,” Castiel says simply, not even bothering to look at Dean when he says it. He swats Dean’s hand away easily before retrieving the bottle. 

“I deserve it.”

“No.” 

“But-”

Castiel shoots Dean a dark look that makes him shiver and shut up. “We fixed it. Just now. You were so fucking good for me, and now it’s over. No more fighting. No more being a stubborn idiot. No more distance. No more blame. No more - any of it. Understood? It’s fixed now.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“But it is.” Castiel pours lube over his fingers and brings them down to Dean’s crack, rubbing gently against Dean’s hole. Dean jolts, then melts. A tiny moan escapes him. “Don’t argue with me or I’ll whip your ass until it’s bleeding.”

Dean whimpers and nods. “Yes, sir.”

“Say it - say that it’s fixed.”

“It’s - It’s fixed, sir.”

“Say you fixed it.”

Dean shakes his head, screwing his eyes shut. “I didn’t fix it. I - if you hadn’t-”

“Dean,” Castiel says in warning. 

“You’re who fixed it. I was useless. I didn’t-”

Castiel sits back, flips Dean onto his stomach, and uses his lubed hand to smack down on Dean’s bruising ass cheeks. The liquid makes the slap even harsher, the air filling with the sound of skin being abused as Dean starts crying. It’s only three or four sharp swats later that Dean is kicking his feet and sobbing, “I fixed it! I fixed it! I fixed it!” 

“There,” Castiel says, panting again. He slides a finger inside Dean’s hole without easing him into it, not stopping until he’s at the third knuckle. Dean chokes into the bedding, saying something Castiel isn’t quite sure is even English. “Color.”

“Green.” Dean turns his face slightly so his voice isn’t muffled. “So fucking green.”

“Good.” Castiel slips another finger into him, scissoring his hole open while he pours lube over his cock with his free hand. He adds some more of it to Dean’s crack, the cool liquid pooling around his two fingers. Castiel pulls out, rubs the lube in, then pushes back inside. After a moment or two, he’s adding the third finger. It’s quick and Dean’s still a little too tight, but they’re both too impatient. It’s been too long. 

It’s been a damn lifetime. 

“Now,” Dean whimpers, moving his ass against Castiel’s fingers in desperation. “‘M ready. Please. Now.”

Castiel grins, pulling his fingers out and lining his cock up. He swivels his hips once, pulling some absolutely  _ beautiful  _ sounds from the man beneath him, then pushes past the tight ring of outer muscles and slides all the way inside of Dean, not stopping until he’s seated fully.

He digs his fingers into Dean’s hips and holds him steady. Before he can even ask, Dean’s nearly shouting, “Green!” as he starts pushing back against Castiel, trying to fuck himself like Castiel is nothing more than a sex toy. Usually, he’d tease Dean when Dean’s this desperate, but not this time. Not after everything. Hell, Castiel isn’t even focused that much on the sex tonight. 

They’re fixed. They’re back together. They’re okay. 

All Castiel wants - all he needs - is to wrap Dean up in his arms and hold him all night long. 

But the sex is fun too, of course, so Castiel pulls back and slams into him. He sets a fast pace, already feeling heat curling in his lower stomach. Every time he goes forward, his skin slaps against Dean’s poor ass, making him sob each time. It’s adorable and sexy and _ holy fucking hell Dean Winchester is just so god damn  _ beautiful _. _

“Come for me,” Castiel growls, feeling himself losing control. “Come on my cock, Dean. Now.” 

Dean nods frantically, reaching down to grab his cock. He barely has his fingers wrapped around it before he’s crying out and spilling all over Castiel’s bedding. With a shuddery breath of relief, Castiel pushes into him three more times before burying himself deep and holding still, filling Dean. Claiming him. It’s caveman-like, but he doesn’t care. 

Dean is  _ his _ . He almost lost him, but he didn’t, and _ thank fuck _ because Castiel couldn’t breathe without him. 

Once he’s slowly eased out of Dean, Castiel rolls off of the bed and gets to his feet. He finally sheds his dress shirt and tosses it to the floor with their other clothes. The dresser in his room is still full of clothes Dean bought him when he first moved in. Clothes Castiel barely ever wore. He pulls out a soft shirt that’s plain and doesn’t look special or expensive, using part of it to wipe off his cock before walking back to the bed and using the rest of it to swipe through Dean’s crack and across his stomach, cleaning him the best he can. He knows Dean well enough to know he’ll argue about showering or bathing right now, especially with Sam home. If he can’t be carried off to the big bathroom with the nice bath that fits them both, then Dean’s not getting clean. 

Dean’s floating, which is fine. Castiel carefully moves him off to the side the best he can before gently tugging the bedding out from under him. He bunches it up and throws it on the floor, thankful that the sheets look dry and clean. There’s an old trunk in the corner that has extra flannel blankets folded in it. Castiel takes out two large ones and goes back to the bed. He tucks Dean in with both, making sure he’s nice and warm, before tugging on a pair of sweatpants and heading to the kitchen. 

When he passes Eileen and Sam sitting at the war table with books spread out in front of them, he doesn’t make eye contact. That doesn’t stop them from wolf whistling as he walks by. It earns them an eye roll, but also a giddy kind of smile. He fills a glass with ice water and grabs a granola bar before returning to Dean. This time, when he passes the couple at the table, he narrows his eyes and warns Sam, “Watch it. I have a feeling the two of you aren’t too far behind.” 

Sam blushes furiously while Eileen throws her head back in a throaty laugh. 

Castiel closes the bedroom door behind himself, then turns the bedside lamp on and the overhead lights off. Dean blinks sleepily at him, lifting his head half-way off the pillow. “Cas?” he asks in a thick, gravely voice that even rivals Castiel’s.

“Yeah, baby. Right here.” He has Dean roll onto his stomach and pulls the blankets back, trying his best to keep part of his upper body covered and most of his legs covered, since there’s a chill in the air. Dean raises up on his elbows and takes the glass of water with both hands, bringing it to his lips and sipping it like an unsteady toddler. He must not register that Castiel dug into the end table for the soothing cream, because he startles and nearly spills everywhere when Castiel first touches his right ass cheek.

Hushing him, Castiel softly spreads the cream along every abused inch of Dean’s ass and thighs. He could heal them, but he knows Dean wouldn’t want that. He doesn’t want it  either. This is a part of it. 

Dean will heal.  _ They  _ will heal. It just takes time. 

Once Dean has nibbled on the granola bar, taken a few more sips of water, and had his chapped skin taken care of, Castiel turns the lamp light off and slips under the blankets beside him. Dean rolls over to him, their bodies naturally slotting together, Dean’s arm and right leg slinging over Castiel’s stomach and legs, Castiel’s right arm crooking beneath Dean’s neck, his left hand coming up to tickle slow, comforting trails up and down Dean’s arm and back. 

“Dean?” Castiel asks softly, not wanting to wake him if he’s already asleep. 

Dean mumbles a sleepy, “Yeah?”

“I forgive you, and I’m sorry.” 

He feels a tear against his bare chest. Then Dean curls up against him and sobs. Uncontrollably sobs. He clings to Castiel like a lifeline, and Castiel stays right there, promising to never leave. Promising everything will be okay. Promising that it’s over now. It’s fixed. He forgives him. He’s sorry. He loves him. They’re a family again. They’ll always have each other. Because they’re real. They’re here. They’re together. And nothing - and nobody - will stop that. 

Dean cries himself to sleep, but just before tipping over the precipice of dreamland, Castiel hears him whisper, “We are.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Go ahead and follow me on tumblr @ destiel-love-forever if you'd like to see more of my content, or just to chat! (:


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